


you fancy me under pressure

by bittereternity



Series: You Fancy Me [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Cannibalism, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Grandparents can be scary, Granny is a BAMF, Gratuitous Swearing, Immature!Will, M/M, Meeting the Family, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Pre-Established Relationship, attempts at humor, confused and frustrated!Will, devoted!Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittereternity/pseuds/bittereternity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Does your grandmother know all the details?" Hannibal asks him.</p><p>Will looks at him sideways. "If you mean <i>does she know that you eat people and that these donuts may or may not have human flesh in them</i>, the answer is no."</p><p>[Or, Will's grandmother -Gam Gam Graham- wants to meet Hannibal, the nice man who's dating her grandson, and he is more than a little terrified. Set in the universe of what has now become my 'You Fancy Me' series, wherein everyone except Will is surprisingly okay with Hannibal being a cannibal. It's not necessary to read the first fic as this can (mostly) stand alone.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	you fancy me under pressure

**Author's Note:**

> I claim zero credit for this idea. It was originally inspired by a comment by [Reign_of_Roses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Reign_of_Roses/pseuds/Reign_of_Roses) on my previous fic. She said: "I seriously couldn't stop imagining when Will was talking about his family how one his family members a sister? would happily inform him how the whole family are cannibals and how proud they are that he found such a good match."  
> I deviated from the original idea a lot, but this never would have happened without the comment, so kudos to her!
> 
> Also, just for the record, I do not support to endorse cannibalism. This is merely fanfiction. Enjoy!

*

Just tell yourself, Duckie, you're really quite lucky.

\- Dr. Seuss 

*

In retrospect, there are worse things to wake up to than a phone-call from Gam Gam Graham. It certainly beats the frequently incomprehensible texts from Jack that are always along the lines of: _cm 2 bau asap. dis is a bad 1_ followed by a very inappropriate smiley face. It’s Jack’s way of being approachable, he knows, but Will is pretty sure he would be just as happy with a fresh cup of coffee or a correctly worded text message.

“Hello?” He rolls over Hannibal’s freakishly still body and grabs the phone.

“William, you should attend to your calls faster,” Gam Gam Graham’s voice is chiding and far too alert for seven AM on a Sunday morning. Will clears his throat helpfully.

“It’s quite rude to keep someone waiting,” she continues. Next to him, Hannibal finally stirs and opens an eye to look at him. It’s fucking unfair, Will thinks, how composed and unruffled Hannibal looks even before he’s woken up; not a hair out of place, no sleep lines on his face, not one wrinkle in his silk pajamas and morning breath that may be mistaken for a blooming daisy. In contrast, Will observes, his side of the bed looks like it’s been run over by a raging bull and judging by the way Hannibal shifts a fraction away from him, his morning breath probably smells like a combination of old eggs and a dead rat.

He clears his throat again. “It’s seven in the morning here, Gam Gam,” he tries to point out.

“Nonsense, William,” He can practically _hear_ the disappointment oozing out of Gam Gam’s voice. “I have been up since five and you don’t hear me complaining.”

Will closes his eyes briefly. “I thought we would be speaking on Wednesday?” he reopens his eyes and tries to change the subject.

“I have some good news for you, William,” Gam Gam’s voice goes from disapproved to fond in the fraction of a second and Will tries to quell the feeling of dread growing inside him. The last time her voice had been this affectionate, she had tried to set him up with the granddaughter of one her dear friends. _She’s a perfectly nice, well-mannered young lady, William,_ she had told him over the phone, carefully omitting unimportant details like her criminal record for burglary until she had run off with one of his dogs.

He cringes slightly as he pictures in his head the inevitable conversation he will have to have with her at some point. He’s unsure where he would begin, there are so many… interesting areas of thought, after all. _I’m dating a man,_ he could say, or _I’m dating a man who is twelve years older than me._ There are other things, of course: _I’m dating a therapist_ or _I’m dating a man who is so stylish and sexy and calm all the time that sometimes I worry that he may be a pod person_ or _I’m dating a man who, at times, acts more like my mother than my lover and wouldn’t Freud just love to have a field day with that._

And if Gam Gam hasn’t stroked out by the end of _that_ particular conversation, he can always add: _I’m dating a man who is a cannibal. Not like a fanboy who claims to be a vampire, but an actual fucking cannibal who eats people._

“… and I told them that you will take us out to dinner on Wednesday night,” Gam Gam finishes, forcing Will to focus on the conversation in hand.

He blinks. “What?”

Gam Gam lets out a sigh of disapproval. “Pay attention, William,” she says in a long-suffering tone. “I was just telling you I’m driving up to D.C. tomorrow with a few ladies from my book club. And they all want to meet that hotshot FBI agent grandson I keep mentioning in every conversation. So I told them that you will take us all out to dinner on Wednesday night and they can get to know you a little.”

Will exhales through his teeth. “Um,” he says.

Gam Gam’s voice is stern. “That’s _not_ a question, William. And bring your new gentleman friend with you. We are all waiting to meet him.”

Will chokes on air. Then, he raises a hand to rub his ears to make sure that they’re still perfectly functional. “ _What_?” he finally asks in a strangled voice.

Next to him, Hannibal responds to his distressed tone by opening his other eye. _Was he looking at me all this while like some kind of one-eyed badger? Please, please let me never, ever process that._

“Your friend Beverly is rather lovely,” she simpers on the other end. “Tell her that the flowers she got me after my cataract surgery were very pretty.”

She hangs up.

Will stares, wide-eyed and rooted to the spot due to sheer confusion, at the telephone before slamming it down and pulling the covers over his head. Hannibal sits up next to him.

“Will?” he asks gently, trying to peel the blanket off his head. He sounds vaguely concerned, which would have annoyed Will before, but now he has come to associate that tone with _everything_. The pitfalls of being a psychiatrist, he supposes.

He removes the blankets with a flourish, only to find himself staring at a little frown on Hannibal’s face. It would be easy enough to flap his hands around and _talk_ about it, except the watch on Hannibal’s wrist glints against the sunlight. It’s amazing how one can go from well-rested to terrified in a mere thirty minutes.

He knows Hannibal’s concern is genuine. If he indicates that he’s up for it, Hannibal will make a cup of hot chocolates (with marshmallows, of course), feed his dogs, prop his pillows and listen attentively. It’s perfect, really. It’s charming.

It makes Will want to stick his tongue out and melt a pint of ice-cream on Hannibal’s flawless, mahogany desk.

Instead, he pulls the covers back over his head. “It’s too early to deal with this,” he mumbles inside his own little blanket sanctuary with only a finite amount of oxygen, and tries to go back to sleep.

*

When he was young, Dad had explained in a kindly and organized fashion, that he had two sets of grandparents. Nana Ryan and Granny Graham. It was easy to resemble. Simple.

Or, rather, it would have been simple except for the slight problem he had with rolling his ‘r’s, such that Granny Graham, after multiple trials and inevitable failures, simply became _Gammy Gam._ That would have been the end of the story, except a couple of years later, he had been so proud to be able to _finally_ enunciate with precision that he had insisted on demonstrating it to the world.

That streak of narcissism, it became apparent later, was an inherited trait. And thus, Gam Gam Graham was born, never to be buried.

“So, your grandmother knows about our relationship?” Hannibal asks when he finishes telling him everything a few hours and a plate of freshly-baked donuts later.

Will nods.

Hannibal hesitates. “Does she know all the details?”

Will looks at him sideways. “If you mean _does she know that you eat people and that these cookies may or may not have human flesh in them,_ the answer is no.”

Hannibal purses his lips together. The cannibalism is a sensitive subject, still. They, or rather Will, tries to skirt around it and pretend it’s not an issue, except for the fact that he’s shit at cooking and the occasional barbs he can’t help but let out. Hannibal makes sure he sees strategically placed ‘rehab’ booklets around his place a couple of times per month, but so far, they have failed to have any straightforward discussion about the elephant in the room.

Until now, apparently.

“It will be alright,” Will half-apologizes. “We can make through a dinner.”

“Indeed.” Hannibal looks thoughtful. “I fail to recall a name, however.”

Will gives him a look. “You mean you _don’t_ have my family history completely categorized in alphabetical order?”

Hannibal looks positively affronted. “Of course not,” he exclaims. “That would be highly unethical.”

Sometimes, Will wonders if he exists in a parallel, twilight zone where he is some sort of a visible, inaudible cloud. He blinks. “ _That_ is what strikes you as unethical?”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow and he relents. “Ingrid,” he sighs. “Her name is Ingrid.”

There is a moment of silence where Hannibal gently sets the knife and the donut back down on his plate and wipes his mouth. Will looks down at his own hands, dripping with chocolate sauce and cocoa powder stuck in clumps on his palm. To anyone else, this would simply be a casual lull in conversation but he recognizes it for what it is: a spike in the tension level within the room.

“Ingrid Graham is your grandmother?” Hannibal asks casually, too casually.  He frowns.

“Why?”

Hannibal picks up his knife. “I was momentarily sidetracked,” he cuts a perfect square of his donut and pops it in his mouth. “My apologies.”

Will wants to probe further, ask what the matter is and why he thought he was mistaken but one look at Hannibal – sitting perfectly still and chewing that square of donut precisely thirty-two times like his life depends on it—and he sighs.

He lets it go.

*

“I will kill you,” he tells Beverly the next day, leaning over to steal a tissue from her tray. She frowns as he stares unhappily at the sheer amount of mayonaise protruding out from his burger.

“What kind of adult goes to McDonald’s in their lunch break?” he had tried to protest when she had suggested this particular establishment.

“The kind who has to go back to analyzing semen samples,” she had replied, effectively ending any future negotiation.

Across from him, she frowns. “I mean,” he continues, “ _why_ are you even talking to my family?”

She shrugs. “She’s worried about you. It’s a recurring theme in all our lives.”

He sighs and takes a bite of the disturbing looking burger. “Gam Gam wants to meet Hannibal,” he informs.

It is truly a sentiment of how frazzled he must be looking that Beverly judiciously ignores the salutation. Instead, she frowns at him again.

“Why aren’t you having this talk with Alana?” is what she wants to know.

Will all but growls. “Chicago. Conference,” he spits out, and she makes a noise of sympathy in her throat. It doesn’t help. She lets him have a spoon of her Oreo and M&M-topped McFlurry as an act of kindness.

“It will be fine,” Beverly tells him. “It’s not like she can _smell_ cannibalism on his tie or something.”

Will tries, really tries to glare at her but the sun is extraordinarily bright over them and who has that kind of time anyway. “I’ve just never dated a man before,” he half-mumbles. “Not to mention, I wasn’t even the one who told her. She has every reason to disapprove.”

She slaps him lightly on the wrist. “You’re not _sixteen._ And she’s not going to disapprove. In fact, she’s going to be ecstatic and between the both of you, you probably have an IQ large enough to prove the Goldbach conjecture or something.”

He raises an eyebrow and hopes it conveys the _what the fuck_ in a dignified fashion but Beverly looks much too earnest. “Last week, I forgot to turn my gas off and Hannibal needed a pair of scissors to open a bag of Kit Kats,” he offers.

Suddenly, it feels like too much information on the table when she chokes on her McFlurry. “Hannibal eats Kit Kats?” she wonders aloud. “I always thought he was the kind of guy who has too much respect for his teeth.” She pauses, still thinking. “And too little for mass-produced candy,” she finishes.

Will tries to wave this segue away. “No, he was opening it for me,” he says distractedly and draws her attention back to the problem in hand. “What if she likes him better than me?”

Beverly throws a piece of lettuce at him. “Seriously, what are you, _sixteen_?” Her voice becomes soothing again. “You have nothing to worry about, though. You’re the one with Patrick Dempsey-esque hair.”

He considers. “Is that even a word?” and then, more thoughtful: “She _does_ like Patrick Dempsey.”

Beverly smiles like she’s just closed a particularly gruesome case. “It’s the hair thing,” she nods sagely.

“And the riding lawn mower thing?” he enquires, and feels, much like before, like he’s divulged too much.

She cocks an eyebrow. “She’s not the only who likes Patrick Dempsey, is she?”

Will feels his cheeks warm up and tries to guzzle down his burger in an effort to appear more composed. “I don’t _like_ Patrick Dempsey,” he tries to deny but it sounds weak, even to his ears.

Beverly throws another piece of lettuce at him. “You say that now,” she spreads her hands like she’s enveloping the great problems of the universe in her arms, “but I’ve _seen_ you tear up at _Grey’s Anatomy.”_

“That’s all Mark Sloan, didn’t you know?” he replies in a monotone, and plucks the lettuce out of his hair.

*

Later, he would think that he really, really should have seen this coming. It’s not like there weren’t enough clues: Hannibal constantly fussing over his ties and kissing him on his forehead, Gam Gam’s chosen restaurant listed nowhere on yelp.com even when Hannibal kept insisting that it was a place of the highest standards.

“Will you be able to digest something you haven’t cooked yourself?” Will had tried teasing him.

“Don’t worry, Will, this evening is all about you and your grandmother. It hardly matters what’s put on the table,” Hannibal has replied, and really, that should have been his third clue.

He figures out that he may have a problem much greater than Gam Gam liking Hannibal when they reach the restaurant and upon spotting them, she ignores him completely in favor of squealing: “Dr. Hannibal Lecter! It’s such an honor to meet you.”

Hannibal, ever the gentleman, bends down to kiss Gam Gam’s fingers. Her attention finally turns to him and instead of a hug, he’s rewarded with a light swat on his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me that the gentleman you were seeing was _the Hannibal Lecter_ , William?”

Will pinches the bridge of his nose, feels the onslaught of a migraine just behind his temples. “You… know each other?” he proceeds with caution.

 _Please, God,_ he finds himself bargaining with a deity whose existence he mostly denies, _I will do anything if you get me out of this. I will eat Alana’s chicken casserole without feeding it to Winston. I will break up with Price’s girlfriends for him. I will do anything but please, God, let this be a nightmare I can wake up from._

Unfortunately for him, luck hasn’t been on his side for, well, ever.

“Of course I know him,” Gam Gam squeals— _squeals._ It grates on his ears. Next to him, Hannibal is perfectly still, his eyes roaming vaguely over the décor of the restaurant. “He is the regional VP of WACKY. We communicate frequently via post.”

Will blinks, decides it’s just better not to process anything until this cacophony of _crazy_ is over. “What’s a WACKY? Is that a thing?” _Or are you just referring to yourselves,_ he does not voice, carefully racking his mind for any registered charities and coming up with zilch.

“It’s the Worldwide Association of the Cannibalistic Kind to aid You,” Hannibal’s smooth voice cuts in.

Will racks his brain. “Wouldn’t that be the WAOTCKTAIY, though?” he asks, momentarily distracted. In terms of names, it’s infinitely cooler than WACKY. WAOTCKTAIY sounds like something one would exclaim after completing a very complicated dance move.

He focuses on the issue at hand fast enough. “Wait,” he turns to Gam Gam, “you’re telling me that you belong to this thing? That you’re a… what did you say, _Cannibalistic Kind?”_

Gam Gam remains silent, and tries to touch his cheek with a hand he swats away. It feels good to yell.

“So here I was worrying about dating a _man_ and you’re telling me that you’ve hidden the fact that you’re a _cannibal_ from me for all these years? You didn’t think that it was important for me to know that you _eat people?_ ” He cringes at the sheer volume of his own voice and does nothing to reduce it.

“William, you have to understand,” Gam Gam begins but all Will can feel is white-hot rage with the occasional sprinkle of betrayal coursing through him. All he can feel is an overwhelming sense of sheer stupidity at not being able to piece the clues together – he’s a _cop,_ dammit- and a growing sense of incredulity that the events unfolding in front of him are _actually happening_.

He feels Hannibal’s hand on his back and he swerves backwards to avoid his touch, almost falling on the waiter passing by carrying a pitcher of what looks much too dark to be sangria. _William_ , Gam Gam calls out but he turns around, ignores everything but the anger thrumming through his ears and leaves.

*

Jack doesn’t look very happy to see him when he knocks at his door.

“Is someone dead?” he asks, forgetting the sense of basic etiquette Will _knows_ Jack to possess.

He shakes his head miserably. “What do you do when you feel like the only sane one around?” he asks with a tinge of desperation.

Jack sighs and his shoulders slump. “Come in, help yourself to all the beer you want,” he magnanimously offers and steps aside.

Will plops down on one of his ridiculously comfortable couches. “Bella pick these out?” he asks, admiring the texture of the cushions. Jack sits down heavily next to him. “ _Will,_ ” he starts with a warning.

Will looks down at his hands. “Do you know of WACKY?”

Jack looks at him like he’s it’s epitome. “It’s a cannibalistic association or something,” he elaborates. “Apparently my boyfriend and my family are both members.”

Jack flinches. “You had no idea?”

He shakes his head.

“That must be hard. What did you do when you found out?”

Will rubs at his eyes. “Leave them stranded and come to you?”

There’s a smile on Jack’s lips like he’s trying really hard to achieve the right balance between irritated and affectionate. Bev and the team like to tease him about his gooey, soft insides but Will knows better. Privately, Will thinks that he’s more like a Ferrero Rocher; there are nuts both on the outside and in the inside, but they are covered in sweet, delicious chocolate nonetheless.

“You have to face them at some point, Will,” Jack points out as gently as he can.

Will sinks further down. “I know. Sometimes, I just wish that I had picked someone simpler to date.” A pause and then, “Or that I had said yes when Alana asked me out all those years back.”

Jack frowns. “Bloom asked you out?”

He nods. “Yeah, it was right after Catherine – remember that bartender who used to bend my spoons?—and I just needed a friend.”

Jack gets up and unbuttons the top button of his shirt. “You wouldn’t like it if you didn’t have a challenge, and you know it,” he sounds disturbingly like he wants to ruffle Will’s hair and thankfully refrains at the last minute.

Will smiles slightly. “Mind if I stay the night?”

This time, Jack does ruffle his hair. “I was just getting up to get you spare pillows,” he murmurs.

*

He lets himself in early the next morning, only to find Gam Gam and Hannibal seated across from each other in his own kitchen. It’s a terrifying sight.

Gam Gam, surprisingly, is the first one to notice him. “I leave in an hour,” she tells him.

He sighs and takes a seat in between them and pours himself some tea. “You shouldn’t worry your Gam Gam so much, William,” she continues.

He takes a sip. “I know Jack called here to let you both know where I was.”

Gam Gam touches his shoulder. It makes him feel all warm and cuddly and safe. “There’s a reason I couldn’t tell you,” she tells him, a trace of apology and a lot of sadness in her voice. It saddens him a little to think that he has caused this particular tone. “Your mother’s family didn’t practice cannibalism either and she wanted you to grow up free of any imposed beliefs.”

He closes his eyes and leans back on his chair. “My mother?” he repeats dumbly. Next to him, Hannibal sits still, hands encircled around his cup and gaze straight downwards, towards the table.

Gam Gam pinches his cheek. “You aren’t the only one who fell in love with a cannibal, William,” her voice shakes as she reaches the end of the sentence.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Your mother,” she begins again. “It wasn’t easy for her. It took years and countless fights and compromises, but in the end, she loved your father very much.” She brings up a hand and dabs lightly at her eyes. “I told her that she deserved a lot more than my son and she disagreed.”

Will looks up to the ceiling to avoid focusing on her trembling voice.

“You’re so much like your mother every single time I see you,” she tells him and he clenches the table with all the strength in his hands.

There’s a moment of silence before he leans forward and kisses Gam Gam on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Take care of yourself for me, yeah?”

She looks at him, eyes rimmed red and a perfectly manicured hand shaking under his skin. “I hope you do,” she plants a wet, huge kiss on his forehead and he closes his eyes against the impact.

Hannibal stands up. “I’ll walk you out to your car,” he offers like he hadn’t even been present for the conversation. Ever the gentleman, he picks up her suitcase and offers her his elbow.

Will watches them both until they become drenched in the bright rays of the rising sun, and in front of his sleep-deprived eyes, their edges begin to blur.

*

He wakes up to the sound of Hannibal humming on what he can only presume is the telephone. From the way the curtains are drawn, he can infer that it’s late afternoon and the curtains are drawn to prevent the sun setting on his face. Let it never be said that Hannibal isn’t thoughtful.

Hannibal is sitting upright next to him, a few folders and his iPad neatly laid on the mattress in front of him. He opens his eyes to offer a greeting just as Hannibal speaks into his phone.

“I’m glad you’re making good time,” he half-whispers. His voice is hushed even in the quiet of the room and Will has to strain to hear him.

Silence. And then, “He’s sleeping now. His night of duress has tired him out sufficiently.”

Will shuts his eyes tighter and tries his best to level his breathing.

Silence. Another moment of silence. Then, “Of course I will,” Hannibal murmurs. “I find myself loving him very much.”

Will presses his lips together as well, trying to avoid any exhale of surprise. They’ve been together for a good while now, and while he knows that Hannibal cares for him very much, hearing the word from his lips is a rare treat in itself.

Silence. “I very much hope that he cares about me as well.”

Silence again. And again. “I’ll tell him,” Hannibal assures. “Take care of yourself.”

Will wills his heartbeat to relax as he tries to slink down under his blankets for an appropriate amount of time before announcing his awakening. It doesn’t matter. They both know he’s awake already, he can tell from the slight change in Hannibal’s posture; a conscious decision on his part to put a distance between them if Will so desires.  They both know that there is a smile somewhere in Will’s action, bubbling beneath the surface and making its way out. They both know that today won’t be the day they would be allowed to see the smile break out on Will’s face. They both know that he’s overheard Hannibal’s conversation with Gam Gam. They both know that they won’t mention it when he is ‘awake’ again.

It doesn’t matter.

Hannibal’s left hand descends lightly to settle on Will’s forehead, a gesture both soothing and conveying a strange sense of solidarity.

Will pretends he doesn’t feel Hannibal stroking his hair and relaxes under his touch.

*

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, what started as a therapeutic post-finale fic is now rapidly expanding in my head. I think it might be quite nice to explore a bit further the idea of an AU where the general populace is perfectly accepting of cannibalism, much like this lovely fandom.  
> In case you're interested in suggesting any prompts or reading about my occasional thoughts of this AU, feel free to join me on [ Tumblr](http://seraphsofheaven.tumblr.com/)! :)


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